Margaret Atwood - Alias Grace

He wakes, or dreams he wakes. He knows he must still be asleep, because Grace Marks is bending over him in the close darkness, her loosened hair brushing his face. He isn’t surprised, nor does he ask how she has managed to come here from her prison cell. He pulls her down — she is wearing only a nightdress — and falls on top of her, and shoves himself into her with a groan of lust and no manners, for in dreams everything is permitted. His spine jerks him like a hooked fish, then releases him. He gasps for air.

Only then does he realize he’s not dreaming; or not dreaming the woman. She’s really here, in the flesh, lying motionless beside him in the suddenly too-quiet bed, arms at her sides like an effigy; but she is not Grace Marks. Impossible now to mistake her boniness, her bird’s ribcage, her smell of singed linen and camphor and violets. The opium taste of her mouth. It’s his thin landlady, whose first name he doesn’t even know. When he entered her she made no sound, either of protest or delight. Is she even breathing?

Tentatively he kisses her again, then again: small kisses. It’s the alternative to taking her pulse. He works his way around until he finds a vein, the one in her neck, throbbing. Her skin is warm, a little sticky, like syrup; the hairs behind her ear smell of beeswax.

Not dead then.

Oh no, he thinks. What next? What have I done?

Chapter 43

Dr. Jordan has gone off to Toronto. I don’t know how long he will be gone; I hope it’s not very long, as I have become quite used to him somehow, and fear that when he goes away, as he is bound to do sooner or later, there will be a sad emptiness in my heart.

What should I tell him, when he comes back? He will want to know about the arrest, and the trial, and what was said. Some of it is all jumbled in my mind, but I could pick out this or that for him, some bits of whole cloth you might say, as when you go through the rag bag looking for something that will do, to supply a touch of colour.

I could say this:

Well, Sir, they arrested me first, and James next. He was still asleep in his bed, and the first thing he did when they woke him up was to try to blame it on Nancy. If you find Nancy you will know all about it, he said, it was her fault. I thought this was very stupid of him, as although she hadn’t yet been discovered, they were bound to ferret her out sooner or later, if only by the smell; and indeed they did so, the very next day. James was trying to pretend he didn’t know where she was, or even that she was dead; but he should have held his tongue about her.

It was still the early morning when they arrested us. They hustled us out of the Lewiston tavern at great speed. I believe they were afraid the men there might stop them, and attract a mob, and rescue us, as they might have done if McDermott had thought to shout out that he was a revolutionary, or a republican, or some such, and he had his rights, and down with the British; because there was still considerable high feelings then, on the side of Mr. William Lyon Mackenzie and the Rebellion, and there were those in the States that wanted to invade Canada. And the men that arrested us had no real authority. But McDermott was too cowed to protest, or else he lacked the presence of mind; and when they’d got us as far as the Customs, and said we were wanted on suspicion of murder, then our party was allowed to proceed, and to set sail without further ado.

I was very glum going back across the Lake, although the weather was fair and the waves not large; but I cheered myself up, by telling myself that Justice would not let me be hanged for something I hadn’t done, and I would only have to tell the story as it happened, or as much of it as I could remember. As for McDermott’s chances, I did not rate them very high; but he was still denying all, and saying we only had Mr. Kinnear’s things with us because Nancy had refused to pay us what we were owed, and so we had paid ourselves. He said if anyone had killed Kinnear it was most likely a tramp; and there had been a suspicious-looking man hanging around, who’d said he was a peddler, and sold him some shirts; and they should be looking for that one, and not an honest man like himself, whose only crime was to wish to better his lot in life through hard work and immigration. He certainly could lie, but never very well; and he wasn’t believed, and might just as well have kept his mouth shut; and I thought it wrong in him, Sir, that he was trying to put the murder off on my old friend Jeremiah, who’d never done any such thing in his life, that I knew of.

They put us into the jail in Toronto, locked up in cells, like animals in a cage, but not so close together that we could speak; and then they examined us separately. They asked me a good many questions; and I was quite frightened, and not at all sure what I should say. I had no lawyer at this time, as Mr. MacKenzie only came into it much later. I asked for my box, which they made such a fuss over in the newspapers, and sneered at me for referring to it as mine, and for having no clothes of my own to speak of; but although it was true this box and the clothes in it had once been Nancy’s, they were hers no longer, as the dead have no use for such things.

They held it against me as well that I was at first calm and in good spirits, with full and clear eyes, which they took for callousness; but if I’d been weeping and crying, they would have said it showed my guilt; for they’d already decided I was guilty, and once people make their minds up that you have done a crime, then anything you do is taken as proof of it; and I don’t think I could have scratched myself or wiped my nose without it being written up in the newspapers, and malicious comment made on it, in high-sounding phrases. And it was at this time that they called me McDermott’s paramour, and also his accomplice; and they wrote also that I must have helped to strangle Nancy, as it would take two to do the job. The newspaper journalists like to believe the worst; they can sell more papers that way, as one of them told me himself; for even upstanding and respectable people dearly love to read ill of others. The next thing, Sir, was the Inquest, which was held very soon after we were brought back. It was to determine how Nancy and Mr. Kinnear had died, whether by accident or murder; and for that I had to be examined in court. By now I was thoroughly terrified, as I could see that feeling was running very much against me; and the jailers in Toronto made cruel jokes when they brought in my food, and said they hoped when they hanged me that the scaffold would be high, as that way they would get a good look at my ankles. And one of them tried to take advantages, and said I might as well enjoy it while I had the chance, as where I was going I’d never have no fine brisk lover like himself between my knees; but I told him to keep his filthy self to himself; and it would have come to worse, except that his fellow-jailer came along and said that I hadn’t been tried yet, much less condemned; and if the first one valued his position he should keep away from me. Which he did mostly.

I will tell Dr. Jordan about this, as he likes to hear about such things, and always writes them down. Well, Sir, I will continue — the day of the Inquest came, and I took care to appear neat and tidy, for I knew how much appearances count, as when you are applying for a new position, and they always look at your wrists and cuffs, to see if you are of clean habits; and they did say in the newspapers that I was decently dressed.

The Inquest was held in the City Hall, with a number of Magistrates present, all staring and frowning; and an immense crowd of spectators, and Press men, pushing and shoving and jostling, so as to be in a better position to see and hear; and these had to be reprimanded several times, for disruption. I didn’t see how they could get any more people into the room, which was stuffed to bursting, but more and more kept trying to thrust themselves forward.